The Regiment

by Christopher Nicole

  ‘That charge,’ he said. ‘How I wish I had been there. And now you’re getting to marry Sis. I couldn’t have wished anything better than that.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Murdoch asked. ‘The life of an Army wife isn’t all beer and skittles.’

  ‘I think she’ll be able to take it,’ Harry said.

  He accompanied the family to Buckingham Palace for the investiture, where Murdoch was taken aback to discover how the King had changed in the six years since he had last come face to face with him. This was an old man, and behind the beard the eyes were dull with utter exhaustion. Yet he exuded his usual ebullience. ‘That’s the trouble with beginning your military career at the very top, Mackinder,’ he remarked. ‘From then on it’s all downhill.’

  To Lee’s great pleasure, as Murdoch’s fiancée she was presented to His Majesty, who gave her one of his most appraising glances. ‘I would say you are fortunate in more than just military matters, Mackinder,’ he observed. ‘I have always rated the American beauty very highly.’

  ‘Gosh, but he gave me goose bumps,’ Lee confided as they went outside to have the curved white cross, with its red and blue ribbon, admired by the others. ‘Does that one go next to the Victoria Cross?’ she wanted to know.

  ‘Oh, indeed. One wears one’s medals in order of seniority.’

  ‘I’m so glad. The crimson of the VC does rather clash with the orange of that South African thing. Now they’ll be neatly separated.’

  He could never be sure whether she was joking or was actually worried about things like that. But the champagne luncheon at the Café Royal was even more enjoyable than last time, because Lee and Harry were able to share it with the family.

  *

  Then it was time to make serious plans. Harry was on his way back to the States, and it was necessary for Lee to go with him to make all the arrangements. The date for the wedding was fixed for the following March, only a few months away now, at which time the entire Caspar clan was apparently going to descend on Bath. ‘Always supposing your funny old colonel gives you permission,’ Lee pointed out, again with that half bantering, half deadly serious are-you-or-aren’t-you-a-grown-man tone in her voice.

  But saying goodbye to her was totally reassuring. They did it alone in her hotel room, with the cab already waiting to take her and Harry to the station, and for the first time, as she kissed him, he felt she was totally absorbed with him. ‘It’s not going to be long,’ she breathed. ‘Oh, it’s not going to be long.’

  ‘Just three or four months,’ he said, as reassuringly as he could.

  ‘Three or four months. That’s a lifetime! And over Christmas, too.’

  ‘We have a lifetime ahead of us. And lots of Christmasses.’ He kissed her again and held her very close. ‘I shall miss you terribly.’

  ‘You better,’ she said, beginning to banter again.

  He escorted her downstairs in an euphoric mood, but was somewhat taken aback an hour later, when he and Mother and Philippa were on their train down to Bath, and Mother remarked, ‘I do hope she’s going to turn out all right.’

  ‘Mother! What a thing to say,’ Philippa rebuked. ‘She’s going to be just perfect.’

  ‘She’s an American,’ Florence Mackinder pointed out, the first time she had raised that subject. ‘They’re such an undisciplined people. Why, do you know, Barnwell told me that Lee made her bed every morning.’ She gazed at her children with arched eyebrows.

  ‘I should think Barnwell would be pleased about that,’ Philippa said. ‘Americans are brought up differently from us, that’s all. And all the best people marry them,’ she pointed out. ‘Mr Churchill’s father did.’ She was a great supporter of the ruling Liberal Party, and especially of the dashing young MP who had shared her brother’s adventures in Africa—even if several hundred miles had separated the two men—and who was now rising very fast in the government.

  ‘Yes, but she doesn’t have to be an Army wife,’ Mother persisted.

  ‘Murdoch will soon lick her into shape,’ Philippa asserted confidently. ‘Won’t you, Murdoch?’

  Murdoch wasn’t at all sure about that; he had never made a bed in his life.

  *

  The next few months were fairly tense, because the mails to and from India, and then from Bombay to Peshawar and back, were very slow, but just after Christmas the long-awaited letter arrived.

  ‘I must apologise for not having replied before,’ Martin Walters wrote, ‘but things here have been fairly busy. However, having heard from Judith what a dear girl your Miss Caspar appears to be, so quiet and docile and determined to become one of us, it gives me the greatest pleasure to grant my permission for your forthcoming nuptials. I may say that any young officer who aspires to make his way in the Army needs, in my opinion, a good wife behind him, and I only regret that I shall not be there for the ceremony. My feelings on this are shared by your brother officers.’

  This was tremendous news, but Murdoch became less happy as he read on.

  ‘I need hardly tell you that I wish you could be here with us, especially right at this minute, when there can be no doubt that something big is about to happen. We could be facing a general uprising among the Pathans and we are preparing ourselves for a hot time. You may rest assured that the regiment will give a good account of itself, even lacking the assistance of its most famous member.’

  The thought that there might be a war brewing on the frontier in which he would take no part Murdoch found very galling, especially as there was also a letter from Johnnie Morton.

  ‘You young devil,’ Morton wrote. ‘I hope your Marylee is a ravishing beauty with the biggest tits in America, and that you flog yourself to death on your honeymoon. If you do not, I truly look forward to making Mrs Mackinder’s acquaintance, whenever we are finally relieved from this beastly place. However, while you are bouncing up and down on your Yankee charmer’s belly, we are apparently going to have to win some medals of our own. The talk in the bazaars is of nothing but war!’

  Murdoch could not help but smile. There was absolutely no point in getting annoyed by Johnnie Morton’s vulgarity. But how, wedding or no wedding, he wished he could be in Peshawar with his friends.

  Walters’ letter meant that preparations could now go ahead in earnest. Murdoch had returned to duty at the depot, and was working his recruits as hard as he had ever done, assisted by a new sergeant, Tomlinson—the strength of the reserve squadron was not yet sufficient to warrant an SSM. Nor did he propose to let the forthcoming ceremony interfere with the requirements of his duty, but Mother and Philippa and Rosemary—who took up residence at Broad Acres, together with little Harriet Phillips—were in their elements, penning invitations, arranging flowers and times of arrivals and departures...and confronting Murdoch with the necessity of naming a best man. There was only one possible answer to that: Harry Caspar. He was delighted, and came over early, to arrange such things as stag parties and to acquaint himself with British custom and etiquette.

  Lee herself arrived at the beginning of March, together with her mother and father and several uncles and aunts and cousins. These new American relatives-to-be all stayed at Broad Acres, of course, and there was a great round of parties and get-togethers to sort out protocol, thus Lee had been in England for four days before she virtually seized Murdoch by the arm and pushed him out into the rose garden.

  ‘I thought we’d never get alone together,’ she said. ‘I do like your uniform.’

  He was wearing the new service dress of dark khaki tunic, paler khaki breeches, brown boots, and of course Sam Browne belt, with a dark khaki peaked cap.

  ‘Very smart.’

  He took her in his arms. ‘As you are more beautiful than ever.’

  She looked up at him. ‘Do you really think so? Have you missed me?’

  ‘Every hour of every day.’

  ‘But what about the minutes and seconds?’

  ‘Some of them too.’

  She kissed him. ‘And old fuddy-duddy
Walters came through.’

  ‘I don’t think there was ever any doubt about that. He’s not really an old fuddy-duddy, you know.’

  ‘I guess a man can’t help his wife,’ she said, and grinned. ‘Although he sure ought to, given the trouble he has to get one in your army.’

  ‘You can always change your mind,’ he said, not altogether jokingly.

  ‘You think I can’t take it?’

  ‘I think you can take anything. If you want to.’

  ‘I want to, Murdoch Mackinder,’ she said. ‘Oh, how I want to.’

  *

  But he still wasn’t sure that she did want to, that she was not having second thoughts.

  He realised his mother was having second thoughts about the Caspars. From their clothes and their jewellery and their talk, they were obviously well-to-do people—Jim Caspar was in the liquor trade in Baltimore—but they obviously had no idea of how upper-middle-class English people behaved. Apart from their language, which was decidedly racy, Jennie Caspar insisted on at least beginning to clear the table after every meal, regardless of the aghast presence of Wilkins the butler and Cooley the downstairs maid; and in sorting her own laundry, to the consternation of Barnwell the upstairs maid, who was in any event affronted by the guests’ bed-making activities.

  Jim Caspar also had a habit of lighting up somewhat pungent cigars—stogies, he called them—whenever he felt like one, and regardless of where, or in whose company, he happened to be. ‘Don’t they have smoking rooms in America?’ Mother asked Philippa and Murdoch.

  Murdoch was inclined to try to have a word with him, but Philippa forbade it. ‘They’re different,’ she said. ‘And difference in people is what makes the world interesting. I think they’re charming.’

  They certainly were, but it was the difference that bothered Murdoch.

  He was as nervous as a kitten, far more than ever before going into action, when the great day finally dawned. The wedding was to take place at eleven in the morning, and as Lee was naturally using Broad Acres, he remained at the depot. Reynolds had him up at dawn, with his full dress uniform—dark blue breeches, pale blue tunic, black boots, burnished helmet, dress sword, medals—all laid out for him.

  Harry was along at nine to share breakfast—not that Murdoch could eat a thing—and during the meal the ushers and the rest of the honour party arrived. There were only two from the regiment itself; the young subalterns whom Murdoch was putting through their paces: Harry O’Dowd, and Clem Pinder. The other ten were from a variety of other regiments, and included several guards officers, friends of Geoffrey Phillips, whose red jackets made a pleasing contrast to the blue of the regiment. At ten o’clock the first bottle of champagne was broken, and from then on the wine flowed pretty freely for half an hour, at which time the horses were waiting for the ride to the abbey.

  They made an imposing sight, Murdoch thought, Harry in black alongside his dark blue, then two red-jacketed guardsmen, then the blue-coated subalterns, then some more guardsmen, with a smattering of lancers and hussars to make up the numbers, and the good people of Bath, aware that a military wedding was taking place, lined the streets to cheer them on.

  ‘This pageantry, this colour, is what England is all about,’ Harry Caspar said enthusiastically. ‘What a pity you don’t wear full dress into battle any more.’

  The abbey was already filled with guests and music, and flowers, and excitement, as Murdoch and Harry made their way up the centre aisle to where the bishop awaited them. They had already had talks and a rehearsal with him, of course, and he was in any event an old friend of the Mackinder family. Then it was a matter of waiting for the bride, who was actually only a little late. They had not been in their places more than ten minutes before Florence Mackinder and Jennie Caspar arrived, the one tall and slender, the other short and stout. And only five minutes after that the bridal march from Mendelssohn was struck up, and Lee entered the door, followed by two Caspar cousins to carry her train, and then by Philippa and Rosemary. Lee arrived at the altar entirely concealed beneath her voluminous veil, but when she threw it back her face was more solemn and intense than he had ever known it, and she too made her pledges in little more than a whisper.

  *

  They were to honeymoon in Cornwall, at an hotel the Mackinders had used often enough in the past, and the last train left Bath at six in the evening, which was only an hour after the last speech had been made, following an immense luncheon at Broad Acres.

  The guests had returned to the house by a variety of means, from horseback to motor cars, flooding down the country road like some mammoth, multi-coloured hunt gone berserk. Murdoch and Lee had of course travelled together, in an open tourer Harry had hired for the occasion, but they were not in the least alone, as the car was surrounded throughout the journey by cheering mounted dragoons. They had no more time than to exchange a hasty smile and a squeeze of the hand before they were posing for the camera in the grounds, indulging in the obligatory kiss, and sitting down to luncheon.

  Then at five it was a matter of hurrying Lee upstairs to get changed for the journey, and hurrying Murdoch away as well, for he was going to travel in mufti. He emerged in his rarely worn civilian suit at almost the same moment as Lee in her deep crimson going-away outfit, held her gloved hand tightly as they ran the gauntlet of the crowd and the confetti, and scrambled her into the motor car which was to drive them to Bath station.

  The military guests accompanied the car, still dressed in their finery, cantering their horses up the streets to the applause of the onlookers, and even walking them along the platform as the train came in. Reynolds had gone on ahead to make sure everything was organised—he had only with difficulty been persuaded from coming on the honeymoon himself, to look after them—and found time to whisper to Murdoch that he had spoken to the conductor and made sure they would not be interrupted until they reached their destination.

  Then they were in the compartment and blowing kisses at Mother and Jennie Caspar and the girls, who had come along in another motor car, and at last the train was pulling out of the station, and they were actually alone.

  ‘Whew!’ Lee remarked, sitting down with a thump and taking off her hat. ‘That was some party.’

  He sat opposite her. ‘I think they all enjoyed it.’

  ‘They jolly well ought to have,’ she agreed. ‘I sure did. All those uniforms...they say her wedding day should be the high spot of a girl’s life, and I can’t see that being beaten. It was like something I’d always dreamed of.’

  ‘I thought it was pretty good too,’ he said, aware that he was uttering inanities, but this was the moment he had been afraid of, he had no idea what the form was.

  She gazed at him. ‘What time do we get to Penzance?’

  ‘About midnight.’

  ‘Midnight? God, I don’t know if I can survive that long.’

  ‘Have some more champagne.’ He opened the huge hamper Reynolds had installed.

  ‘If I drink any more of that stuff I’ll drown.’ She peered into the basket. ‘What on earth is in there?’

  ‘Dinner. There’ll be consommé, and cold turkey sandwiches, I should think—he knows they’re my favourite—and some jelly, I imagine, and cheese and biscuits, of course, and probably a couple of bottles of claret to go with the cheese, and then some bonbons. And a thermos of coffee. What would you like to start with?’

  ‘Oh, my God! Show me any more food and I’ll die.’

  ‘Well, I think it would be a mistake to stop drinking.’ He popped a cork and filled two glasses, setting the bottle on the floor as the train rumbled through the darkness. The Lights of Bath were already fading into the distance. He gave her a glass, and raised his own. ‘Here’s to us, Mrs Mackinder.’

  ‘Mrs Mackinder,’ she breathed, and sipped, staring at him as she did so. ‘This is one hell of a public carriage.’

  ‘Easily mended.’ He got up and drew the blind over the door, then the one over the window. ‘Voilà!’


  ‘Can’t we lock the door?’

  ‘As we are on our honeymoon, I don’t see why not.’ He managed to wedge it, aware of a pleasant sensation which was creeping over his entire body. He was alone with a most exciting woman who had yielded herself into his keeping, who would be his to have and to hold, as she had recently sworn to the bishop, for the rest of his life. Until death did them part! He turned back to face her, picking up his glass as he did so, and found her watching him with that slightly quizzical expression she wore from time to time; her glass was empty. Hastily he refilled it.

  ‘I’m quite tight already,’ she confessed, but she took it.

  ‘Join the club. Maybe that’s the best way to start married life.’

  ‘You bet,’ she said. ‘Only...midnight. I’ll be asleep long before then.’

  He put down his glass, took hers from her hand, and sat beside her. ‘This carriage is all but policeman proof, at this moment.’ He took her in his arms and kissed her. There was so much more he wanted to do to her, and the most magnificent feeling of all was that now he could; she was his wife. Yet his hands were trembling as he unbuttoned the throat of her blouse and kissed the flesh beneath. ‘I have dreamed of this moment for a very long time,’ he said.

  Her arms were still round him, but now they tightened, crushing his face against her flesh for a moment before releasing him again, while he inhaled her scent. ‘I will love you, Murdoch,’ she whispered into his hair. ‘More than anything else in the world. More than anyone else in the world. I will love you.’

  Almost she sounded as if she were trying to reassure herself. He raised his head. ‘I’m glad of that. Because I’m going to love you, too.’

  They stared at each other, then very cautiously he let his hand touch her breasts. She gave a little shiver.

  ‘I am being an utter cad,’ he said. ‘I should be making polite conversation until we get to the hotel.’

  ‘No,’ she said fiercely. ‘No, I don’t want to wait. If I thought we couldn’t be interrupted...’

  ‘We won’t be.’

  ‘What about the guard?’